


A Stardew Stranger

by God1643



Series: Full One-Shots [2]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Bouts Of Rage, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God1643/pseuds/God1643
Summary: Alexander Marston is new in the Valley, but his family has been there for centuries. Recognizing there is another Alex already around, he chooses to go by his childhood nickname.This is an abbreviated telling of the story of a young man called 'Lug', and his falling in love.
Relationships: Abigail/Male Player (Stardew Valley)
Series: Full One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828855
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	A Stardew Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a series of very small chapters posted all at once, with unmentioned time-skips/line-breaks, so if you're confused about a change in location that's probably why.

The hollow rattling of boot spurs echoed into Pierre’s General Store, and Pierre himself looked up from behind the counter where he sat on the swiveling seat to see the entering figure.

‘ _ A Stranger. How peculiar. _ ’ Pierre thought, furrowing his gently wrinkled brow in consideration. The man wore brown leather cowboy boots with a rounded toe, with faded and mud-caked blue jeans pulled over.

A dark green cavalry shirt with burnished brass fasteners was buttoned back at the top two studs to reveal a very curly and heavy patch of dark red chest hair. A long red beard descended from his sharp jawline to dangle to the very top of his clavicle.

A straight mop of ochre hair sprouted out like lettuce leaves from under the brim of a light brown beaver felt Rider-Style stetson. The front and back brims longer than the sides were wide; and the hat’s shape further pointed out the brutal angularity of his face.

A stalwart lack of emotions looked out from deep hazel eyes, though the smile lines already on his young face seemed to imply the orbs would usually hold a warm glow. The way he stamped his feet to remove the mud on the store’s outside rug was a clear attempt to hide his shyness, or at least, it was to Pierre’s experienced eye.

The man’s hands, cracked and blistered with four separate band-aids on them, were a clear sign of his new work as someone who had not worked with tools and was only starting to now.

A rectangular basket crafted of wooden slats, beat up and looking as though it had sat for multiple years, was lined with a red cotton cloth as he carried it underneath his arm.

“Hello!” Pierre said with a smile, jumping with metaphorical feet first into this new acquaintanceship.

“Welcome to Pierre’s General Store! How can I help you today?” Pierre continued, spreading his arms slightly before splaying his hands on the counter to showcase the store. The stranger stepped to the counter with six long strides, his spurs rattling with the motion.

“This where I sell produce?” The stranger rumbled, a baritone growl. The soft eyes and placid body language showed Pierre this man was not actually snarling at him, simply that his voice was gravelly on its own.

“Yes indeed. You won’t find better rates this side of Mount Mars!” Pierre said happily. The man placed his basket onto the countertop gently and peeled away the cotton to reveal a modest cluster of twenty parsnips, and Pierre rolled his sleeves away to inspect them.

Each tuber was eight or more inches long, healthy and already washed.

“30 apiece good for you?” Pierre asked after a minute of contemplation. The Stranger gave a nod of agreement and Pierre loaded up the basket with the man’s subsequent purchase, covering them over again with the cloth.

The man left the shop twenty parsnips lighter and twelve potato seed packets heavier, and Pierre had no idea of the subsequent popularity he would gain as the parsnips entered the market.

Pierre and the others began to look forward to the stranger’s appearances and his subsequent food.

It was always of the highest quality and deftly harvested to ensure no loss, with no signs of root rot or even leaves vaguely nibbled on by wildlife.

Curious about the man, many of the town’s members found themselves visiting his farm.

It was on the twelfth of spring that Abigail found herself heading to Marnie’s Ranch. Deciding to take her favourite shortcut to the west and then south, she completely forgot that Old John’s farm had been taken over by his grandson. Thus, she got an eyeful of something not easily forgettable.

The stranger was nude from the waist up, bareing a heavily muscled torso,  _ carpeted _ in fiery red hair, with long lines and miniscule marks of scar tissue interrupting the growth of his curled body hair. Sweat ran from his every pore in cascading rivulets, as his hoe bit deep into the ground a safe distance from his bare feet.

Abigail turned to leave, only to cringe as her foot came into contact with a twig and came down with a snap. She turned to face him, only to see him still working.

“I knew you were there. You walk loud.” The stranger rumbled, continuing to work the ground.

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot that the farm was occupied aga-...” Abigail babbled, only to be cut off.

“Fill that bucket and bring it here, and you’re forgiven.” The stranger rumbled once more, his voice even and containing a weird quality. It wasn’t cold, nor even all that rude, merely stalwart and stoic, as though any warmth in the friendship had yet to develop.

Abigail, while deep in thought, did not notice she had followed his command/request until she was setting the steel bucket by his bare foot. He granted her a nod and grabbed the five gallon bucket, that Abigail had struggled with after filling it, and lifted it effortlessly to his lips.

Abigail found herself staring in grotesque awe as more than a fifth of the bucket disappeared into his bearded maw, not spilling a drop. Then, he poured it over the hoed soil with a dismissive sweeping motion and turned to her.

A smile, so small and hidden by his beard that Abigail almost missed it, appeared with the slightest upturn of his pale lip. Abigail gave a hesitant smile back and tucked one of her purple locks behind one of her ears, pushing her soft face and almost elfin features into full view.

“The path’s clear. Keep the cliff to the your left. Don’t enter the deep woods, the slimes haven’t been culled yet.” He said as he turned back to his work.

“What’s your name?” Abigail asked, and he turned back to her.

“What’s yours?” He countered, mischief in his jade eyes.

Abigail huffed.

“I’m Abigail. People call me Abby.” She replied.

“Alex. Call me Lug.” Alex responded.

“Lug?” Abby asked, with a small scoff.

“Grandmama said my pacifier was a lug wrench. It stuck back home. Stardew has an Alex already, I’ll be Lug again.” Lug replied. Abigail let loose a muffled laugh, covering mirth behind her hand.

“Goodbye, Lug. Good luck with the farming.” Abigail said in leaving.

“I like your hair.” Lug blurted, then blushed behind his beard and rushed off into his house.

Abby laughed again and left for the newly-cleared path, watching for slimes and resting a pale hand on the hilt of her belt dagger.

A small lunch with Marnie and a visit with the cows, an hour spent talking over tea with Leah while the older woman sculpted, and then tidying up the Wizard’s Tower. Everyone always said the older man was standoff-ish and a bit rude, but he seemed softer around Abigail. She found it fun to cook for the man, liking his conversation, and he paid her a small wage and gave her access to his library in return for cleaning.

Overall, it was a productive and gentle day.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the valley was cast into darkness, Abigail made her way back onto Lug’s Farm to head home. Just as the Stardrop Saloon bells rung out nine chimes, a sound emerged from the woods to Abby’s left.

A sickly squelching sound, followed by a keening, phantasmic wail. Abby’s heart began to race in her chest, the familiar rushing current of adrenaline supercharging her limbs and causing her fingers to go all jittery.

A great crashing in the underbrush brought a monstrous slime lumbering forward, larger than any she had seen in the mines.

It loomed over her head, two cold and black beady eyes, small and sunken like a particularly malicious boar, gazed out at her. A fanged slit ran across it lengthways, the hardened slime teeth snapping together in intimidation. Abby drew her dagger, yet knew it would be useless.

A presence, so powerful and simply  _ there _ that its air seemed to steal her breath, bounded up behind her in a flash of movement.

Abigail, horrified at the threats both in front and behind her, froze as the fanged maw of the slime opened wide and moved to bite down.

With a thunderous, tree-shaking roar, the presence behind her made himself known. A flash of brown stetson and bright red hair gleamed under the torch held aloft in his left hand.

A mighty lead club, stained with splattered viscera from slimes, swung in a whistling arc to shatter fourteen of the endless rows of teeth and sent another four flying.

The slime turned its attention from Abby to the new threat, and a horrific noise arose from its gullet, like a hissing alleycat had pneumonia and was coughing from lung cancer.

Lug took advantage of it’s distraction with him to grab Abby by the back of her jacket and throw her backward, and she landed with a shocked exhalation on a pile of dirt, now safely away from the beast.

The slime lunged, once, twice, three times, and on the third Lug could not get away fast enough. The purple hardened slime, sharp as a razor, bit deep into the skin of his left arm and his torso.

Lug growled in agony, and jumped to the side to avoid another lunge. 

With an echoing shout of frustration, Lug launched into a flying leap, planted a bare foot against the rough bark of a pine and swung downwards with every ounce of force in his body, crushing the soft-walled skull of the foul creature and causing it to dissipate into multiple dozens of small slimes, who evaporated under the heat of his torch.

Lug swayed on his feet when he finished, and Abby, having scrambled to her feet after the throw, broke from her fear trance to support him as he staggered forward. Her small, pale hands buried in his chest hair as she slung his heavy right arm over her shoulder, barely taking his weight

Through sheer willpower on her part, and a remarkable tolerance for pain on his, they managed to stumble into Pierre’s General Store. Pierre and Caroline sat behind the counter, beside themselves with worry, which only grew ever worse as they witnessed the state of the stranger.

“Abigail! What has happened?” Pierre demanded, eyes wild with panic. He vaulted the counter, showcasing an agility she would not normally attribute to him, and took Lug’s weight. Lug leaned against the counter and set his club to stand on its head, as he placed the torch into the only safe place, their coal grate.

“Royal Slime, corrosive venom. Get Harvey and Marlon.” Lug panted out, clutching his side and pinching his face in agony. His wound steamed from the poison as Caroline rushed outside to their neighbour building, and Pierre rushed north of town to the Adventurer’s Guild.

Harvey bustled inside, a stretcher under one arm, and started barking orders with confidence contradictory to his normal laid back, and even nervous, attitude.

“Caroline! Go back outside and get Elliott, Alex and Sam. I’ll need all the strength I can to move him.” Harvey stated, unequivocal in his tone and efficient in his movements.

“Lay… stretcher. I’ll get… on.” Lug panted out. Harvey set the stretcher on the floor and Lug collapsed to his knees, rolling to land with a pained grunt on his back.

“Baking… soda. Sprinkle on… venom.” Lug panted out, as Harvey worried over the massive man.

Abigail rushed to do as he ordered, taking some from the shelves and breaking the seal, pouring it liberally on the leaking green discharge. It bubbled and evaporated rapidly, and Lug let loose a sigh, his forehead pausing in leaking its sweat and his pounding heart slowing.

Marlon entered the building with swift strides, his black eyepatch catching light as he knelt beside the massive prone figure of his friend. He reached into a hip satchel and drew out a glass bottle filled with red liquid. Uncorking it, he carefully allowed half to fall into Lug’s opened maw.

It fell out of the wide mouth of the bottle in thick, red, glutinous drops, like maroon mud or a seriously macabre milkshake. Alex sighed as it did its work, and Abigail watched in shock as the poison oozed from the wound on its own. Marlon turned to Harvey and spoke.

“The venom slows metabolic healing processes extensively. He’ll need surgery to close the wounds, but you must allow the antivenom to flush from his system on its own. No sedation can be given to him under any circumstances, and nothing can enter his bloodstream beside saline solution. Do you understand?” Marlon’s voice rumbled from his chest like a breaking wave, and Harvey nodded in response.

Caroline burst into the shop, with Sam, the other Alex, and Elliott just behind, looking bewildered. Elliott wore star covered pajamas that would surely get him mocked later, though something said Sam’s rocket covered pants weren’t going to be free of jokes either.

The trio strode swiftly and found themselves following Harvey’s orders with a surprising acceptance.

What do you know, the nerdy pup really can bark when he has to.

Each took a corner of the stretcher, Abigail held the I-V drip that Harvey had put into Lug’s left arm aloft as they moved, while Pierre and Caroline held the door open to let the strange gathering of people through.

Maru, having been inside the saloon and hearing the commotion, was standing with most of the other citizens of Stardew in the Town Square, and bolted to the side of her mentor to assist.

Harvey nodded in gratitude to the woman who served as his nurse, and gestured swiftly for her to open the door to his small practice. She did, with Pierre doing the same to the opposite double door, and their assembly moved briskly down the hallway into their surgery.

Lug’s head lolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness, welcoming the familiar blackness.

Abigail gnawed on her nails in worry, the purple paint long since chipping away and falling to a fine particulate powder near her violet converse chucks. Her mother stood next to her, resting her green-haired head on Abby’s shoulder and wrapping a comforting arm around her daughter.

Pierre returned to the room, carrying a small tray. The gathered people turned as the door opened, and yet Abby’s numb body would not turn her neck to see. She did not even try to turn her gaze away from the window that looked into Lug’s bed rest room.

Marlon’s deft hands had Lug efficiently sewn up as Harvey did exhaustive checks, turning up nothing but affirmations of Marlon’s claims that the massive newcomer’s body would flush out the venom on its own with the assistance of Marlon’s antivenom concoction.

The old man had trudged out of the operating room, looking exhausted, and thanked Abigail with a bloody hand on her shoulder for her quick thinking in getting him back to town.

A numb Abigail had not responded aside from turning her eyes to him, and back to the shut operating room door. Marlon had offered her mother a soft smile, whispered an assurance of Lug’s toughness, and left.

When Abigail had seen Lug wheeled out on a gurney, pale, sweaty, pallid and so very fragile looking, the flash backs to the fight had begun to occur. His roar, like an animal and not even vaguely within the volume humans could produce, as he came up behind her and defended her.

His growl of agony as the slime bit down, a growl that grew into a bellow as the slime turned and began to savage his arm and side.

The fury that ignited in his eyes and the disgust at herself that bloomed in her gut for standing there, frozen,  _ useless _ , as he was nearly torn to pieces.

And, now, as they hit her like a truck, she collapsed with legs like jelly onto her knees, heaving sobs ripped from her chest, out her throat and into the sterile-smelling air.

Caroline, with a sound of surprise, sunk down next to her daughter and wrapped her in an embrace.

“I failed him, mom…” Abigail whispered.

“You didn’t fail anybody, darling.” Caroline said softly. Abigail burst into another sob that racked her shoulders like she had been lashed across the back.

“I froze!” Abigail screamed, in rage and disgust at herself, and blinded in hatred at a world that would put such a kind soul through such pain.

The world felt like it would fall out from under her, only the rasping friction of her mother’s hair against her own stopping her from slipping away completely. All she could see through her tear-blurred vision was a curtain of green hair, and all she could feel was her father’s calloused hand on her back through the hoodie.

“Thanks.” A voice whispered.

Abigail looked up at the noise, wiping fiercely at her tears in an effort to make the blurring go away but only making it worse. When she could finally see through the redness in her eyes, she was meet with a piercing green looking back.

The door was ajar, and she could see his face.

Abigail gasped and scrambled from the floor, pushing past her father and away from her mother’s embrace to race to Lug’s bedside. He smirked up at her, a pale pink lip upturned.

His face was tired and slack, but a healthy bit of colour and blood was back into his cheeks. Bags sunk deep under his eyes and his heavy brow was low in a furrow, but his eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Thanks? For what?!” Abigail exclaimed indignantly.

“For saving my life, obviously.” The words fell from his mouth softly, yet carried up to her ears without effort. Abby scoffed, then began to laugh hysterically. He joined her in a rich, deep, full-bodied basso chuckle. His right arm reached over to rub at his left side.

“Don’t make me laugh.” He panted, his face pinched in mirth and pain. Abby and Lug shared a light moment, before Pierre and Caroline entered. Pierre’s face was solemn and stoic as he looked at the man laid before him.

“You saved my daughter, my only child, from death.” Pierre said, tears pooling in the back of his eyes. He looked a sight, a damaged man, curled in on himself and shoulders low.

“You saved her when I wasn’t there for her. I can never pay you back for that.” Pierre whispered softly, a tear leaking from his left eye, trailing down his face and draining into his thick stubble. A midnight shadow, as it were.

“Oh, Dad…” Abigail breathed, reaching with the hand not rested on Lug’s chest to place her palm on her father’s knuckles.

“Pierre, my silly, silly man…” Whispered Caroline, setting her hand in the same spot on the other hand.

They stood in silence for a long moment, before Lug spoke.

“How does a ten percent discount sound?” Pierre scoffed, then the room exploded into laughter.

Lug was desperate for sunlight. It was currently just past dawn, and a tweak in his side had kept him up since two in the morning.

He had spent the last two days in bedrest, with the curtains closed to ensure he could doze off whenever he felt tired. His chest was bound thickly in bandages, over his muscled pectorals, over his scarred right shoulder and around his gut to keep the gauze pads on the left side of his body in their place.

Grunting, Lug eased his feet from under the warm blue sheet that had been draped over him and gingerly swung them off the side of the bed. Huffing and groaning, he planted his feet and eased his way to standing.

Swaying slightly as his head rushed full of blood, he gathered himself and straightened up. His eyes scanned the room and fell upon a gift from Marlon.

Carved with care, but with clear novice skill, a sturdy cane topped in a velvet bound hard rubber head, shaped and painted, in a poor attempt at a joke, as a purple slime. Grunting in slight laughter, he took the cane and tested its strength.

He shakily shambled from the room, opening the door with a twist of the brass knob and entered the hallway. Harvey looked up at the sound and smiled, Maru at the opposite side of the counter, organising pill bottles.

“Feeling alright, Lug?” Harvey asked merrily, his eyes bright. Lug grunted in response and turned up his lip in a small, grateful smile.

“Better. Need to see the sun.” Lug rumbled tiredly. Harvey nodded his understanding.

“Too long on bedrest, huh?” Harvey commisserated, lifting the bar and stepping from the counter to cross the room. He opened the door and allowed Lug to shamble out, hunched over the long cane and looking remarkably fragile for one so burly.

Upon leaving the building, he stepped out from under the rain canopy in front of the door and stood straight. He tilted his head back and appreciated the sensations.

The brisk spring wind bit at his bare, bandaged chest and thin pajama pants, but the sun fell down upon his face in bright rays that drew a sigh from his pale lips.

“Well colour me impressed, boy, you’re way bigger than they said.” Remarked a voice to his left, and Lug turned to see a man, middle aged with balding brown hair and a wide smile, wearing a weather-beaten yellow sweater and pressed brown trousers.

“I get that a lot.” Lug remarked in return, his hoarse voice making it sound less like a jest and more like an observation. The man chuckled.

“I wanted to thank you for protecting Abby, I’ll have a cold beer waiting for you at the Saloon if you want to drop by someday.” The man said.

“You’re welcome. I’ll drop by when my arm’s less cuts and more scars.” Lug said wryly, his eyes crinkled with mirth. The man laughed and shuffled off toward the beach with a whistled tune.

Lug was growling, angry.

Abigail watched from the porch, calmly sipping a glass of lemonade, idly scratching Lug’s new adopted dog, a burly golden labrador-pyrenees stray, recently named Jake. Jake snuffled at her purple windbreaker, laying his heavy head in her lap and rumbling out pleased breaths.

She watched Lug, finding the name utterly inadequate. It was the name of an idiot, an affectionate calling for when someone did something stupid or childish. Lug didn’t ever seem to do either, even his slightly childish bouts felt more mischievous than immature.

Also, one syllable names never quite sat right with her, reserved for you had to have to draw in someone’s attention, and multisyllabic nicknames were superior for lighthearted conversation.

She had about three waiting to try on him, but watching him struggle to drive the hoe into the dirt with one arm and the other in a sling didn’t seem like a playful time.

“Lug.” He whirled, eyes wild with frustration, huge torso panting, and at the man-beast before her, this paragon of bulk and violent strength, she gave a mere lazy blink, knowing by now he wouldn’t ever harm her.

“Come here.” She patted the wood beside her, with Jake deciding he liked the noise and matching it twice with his heavy tail. Lug stormed over, growl descending in volume as he drew closer and plopped onto the wood.

She ran a hand over his upper back, scratching with her purple nails in the space between his shoulderblades, through the grey Led Zeppelin ‘Icarus’ shirt he wore.

“Thanks.” He grated out as he calmed down, arching against her nails with a pleased sigh. She smiled and nodded, offering his massive canteen. He grunted in thanks and drank as he gave a baleful stare to the messy tilled rows, looking at his arms as if they had betrayed him, the left in a grey sling and the right red with sunburn.

“Can I help?” Offered Abigail.

“You ever tilled anything before?”

“Well… no.” She admitted. “But I could learn.” He nodded tiredly, in exhausted agreeance if nothing else, his sun-cracked right arm reaching up to scratch at his beard.

“Alright.” He stood, reaching over at a bemused Abigail to pluck the drink from her dainty hands and then lift her up, smiling as she loosed an involuntary squalling noise she would later deny and set her on the ground. “Jake!” The lazy dog perked slightly, opening a bored eye.

“Stay.” Lug pronounced with dead seriousness, despite knowing the dog had to be physically picked up to bother going anywhere. Jake snorted, tossed his head and laid back down, as if calling his new owner an obvious moron. Abigail laughed as Lug grumbled about it, her joy clear and ringing.

Abigail didn’t go anywhere alone anymore, Lug escorting her home and then returning to the farm when she had to leave at night, and Jake following her just about everywhere in the daytime.

Her only downtime was on Wednesdays, when she helped her father sort out the store and inventory and then just stayed in her room after the work was done, too tired to do much else besides sometimes bug Maru in the clinic next door. Conveniently enough, Lug always seemed to be either helping Clint or down in the mines on Wednesdays.

The tilled rows weren’t much more consistent with Abigail’s work, and she also worked slower, but the treasured work of Lug’s produce was still available for the townsfolk and Lug had plenty strength enough in one arm to keep helping Clint, and Harvey agreed the cardiovascular exercise would be good for the injury.

“The poison weakened your heart, it must be strengthened again. A general workover for your circulatory system is a good idea, so eat plenty of pork, rice, and replace every bit of sweat you drop with at least twice as much water. Otherwise…” Harvey’s voice had trailed off, the threat more than implied.

Lug didn’t show any outward fear, he never seemed to, but he had acquiesced gracefully in a way Abigail suspected that he didn’t do for just anyone.

Despite their common time together, Lug was so often busy on the farm that unless Abigail was helping him work, they didn’t do anything much. While most people didn’t like admitting it, and their wallets liked the change even less, the community had basically unilaterally agreed that Lug’s produce was superior to most other food in practically every way.

JoJa’s frozen and pre-prepared food sales had plummeted, and Gus cutting a deal with Lug had dropped the prices of the Saloon food. Lug had been amazingly considerate, stipulating that you only got the discount if you came with someone else, and if you were rude or got too drunk, the prices doubled.

Gus had been a little hesitant about the change in such an openly-non-alcoholic policy, but had eventually agreed that Pam and Shane no longer fighting had been better. Pam and Shane hadn’t liked it, but the fantastically brewed Pale Ale and Lug’s excellent mandarin-orange style chicken and stirfry was worth the exchange. And hell, it wasn’t like Gus and Lug were trying to make them quit cold turkey, they were just cutting them back a bit.

Shane… well, Shane just complained until Lug placed a massive mixing bowl filled with the volumetric equivalent of  _ nine literal fucking gallons _ of Pepper Poppers in front of him and dared him to criticize it, and then Shane quietly and calmly turned up every night to critique each new recipe Lug brought to him.

It mellowed both men out, and eventually the two started exchanging stipulations for the arrangement to continue. Shane didn’t like that Lug wore his hat inside, having been raised to consider that disrespectful, and Lug removed it.

Lug didn’t like that Shane was lazy about shaving, and told him to either shave each day or grow in a beard. Now, Shane had a lustrous mustache that he could bond with Gus, Harvey and Lewis about.

The Town? Well, the town just watched on in utter bewilderment as the Depressed Outcast and the  _ Fucking Bear in Human Skin _ exchanged cooking advice. It was… surreal. Elliott described it as surreal and then told everyone not to try to find other words for it, as his extensive library confirmed there  _ were _ no others for it.

When Gunther and Penny- the other two people in the Valley considered to be ‘intellectuals’- were seen to be dazedly nodding alongside Elliott’s claim, everyone else acquiesced to the older Writer’s conclusion.

Gus and Emily were actually considering an expansion to the Saloon, to extend out westward and incorporate living quarters for Penny, Pam, and a spare space for Linus if he needed it, as everyone agreed Linus cooked very well with very little resources, and when given proper spices he used a wide variety with very small amounts to create  _ tiny hints _ of delicious flavors that burst in your mouth.

Pam had agreed, and Penny was ecstatic, planning with Robin to incorporate a classroom beside her quarters for Jas and Vincent.

The community was coming together in a way that hadn’t been done in years, not since before Kent went off to war, Sebastian’s father left, JoJa moved in, and then Grandpa John Marston died. It appeared to be true, as it was written on the grey stone tablet at the Mountain Summit, “ _ There must always be a Marston in Windspend _ .”

And standing amongst the community, watching the chaos, was Lug, with his arm around Abigail, Jake at his side, and water at the edges of his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How much I love this town. I’ve only been here a month and a half, and I don’t ever want to leave. I want to grow old here, with a bent back and grown children, with children of their own, and I’m beyond ecstatic to set up the livestock so my farm will feel  _ alive _ like it hasn’t.”

“Anything else?” She asked next, turning up to look at him. Lug met her eyes and laughed, picking her up and enjoying the way her legs wrapped over his hips, so they could be eye-to-eye.

“Oh, a few things. A few, certain feelings I may have for a purple-haired girl.”

“Oh? Purple hair? Now, who do I know who has purple hair?” Her tone was mockingly playful. His hand slid down from her shoulders to rest on her side, almost meeting around her waist. His face slid into something more intense, but still soft.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. You’re perfect.” Her cheeks ignited in a blush. “But, I just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“That the whole Saloon has been watching you cling to me like a limpet for the last minute and they’ve been passing bets on if we’ll kiss or not.”

“Who stands to win the most?” She knew he’d know that, his situational awareness was  _ obscene _ .

“Caroline. I think she’s gonna take home about five hundred gold, so long as we kiss in the next three minutes.”

“My mom bet on me making out?!”

“No, Pierre bet on us making out, your Mom thinks you’ll be conservative and give me a peck.”

“Who do you want to prove wrong?”

“Neither. I wanna win the bet.” And with that he was against her, pulling her flush to his chest, and pinning his mouth on her collarbone. The room exploded into cheers and groans from those who lost bets, as Marnie and Lewis did a dancing jig at having predicted correctly.

They hadn’t bet, that was for the young fools, but they had been  _ right _ .

“You bet on  _ kissing my neck _ ?!” Abigail squalled, laughter in her voice.

“Nope. I bet on turning you red like a cherry.” He said, throwing his head back in a cackle, bouncing a bit to the beat of a jukebox tune, the saloon going rowdy.

“A round on me!” Alex called.

“And a round on the house!” Gus echoed, grinning like a loon, watching his bar turn into a raucous mess.

“Why won’t you give me a sword?”

“I won’t  _ make _ you a sword,  _ yet _ ...” Lug replied, stressing the words. “Because your body is not ready for it. There’s plenty of power in your hips and upper thighs, and your knee rotation is plenty healthy, but you have little to no strength in your shoulders and your wrist simply isn’t strong enough to keep proper edge alignment.”

“I didn’t know you could make weapons.” Abigail replied. Lug pulled a face and hefted the massive club from his belt, dropping it with an echoing thud on the rickety portion of the cabin’s porch. Its sheer weight collapsed the wood, crashing through with no input from his swing.

“Now, who around here would make something this stupidly heavy? Clint’s strong, true, but his smithing work is mostly architectural and Marlon doesn’t have the strength to make this. No, this was me.”

“And aren’t I grateful you had a weapon big enough to damage a Royal Slime.” Abigail said, walking over to him and giving him an embrace. “Alright, I understand where you’re coming from with the strength, but you also haven’t shown me anything to fix my lack of strength.”

Lug cocked an eyebrow, gestured sarcastically to the field and held out his hoe.

“There. I showed you.”

Abigail huffed.

The winter came ferociously, ceaseless snows for days on end. The drifts were piling up far past hip height, becoming more than nuisances and entering into dangerous territory. Everyone had come together in a big way, huddling against the cold and conserving heating in the common room of Pierre’s store.

Evelyn and George had been the first to require being moved, and it was through a ferocious blizzard that they left their house, the winds blowing over Alex and sending Evelyn flying into a drift.

It was Sam and Lug that saved them, Sam pushing George with Evelyn on his wheelchair’s lap and Lug carrying Alex into the nearest house, bursting through Pierre’s doors. Sam had been assisting Lug in extricating Gus from the Saloon building, the older man injured from a roof collapse.

And in the midst of the crisis, Abigail and Lug had their first fight.

“I want to help.” Abigail said. Lug, already on his way back outside, bundled in a massive coat coated in warming enchantments from the Wizard, had to stop and turn around to meet his love’s eyes.

“No, honey doll. It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t say something is too dangerous and then go do it yourself!” Abigail denied, temper fraying from nearly a week of being stuck inside. Lug was equally frayed from the cold and lack of sleep, and as he puffed in anger, Abigail saw his eyes flash with something red.

“We are not the same, Abigail! I am three times your size! These winds alone would blow you over, let alone the cold robbing you of strength! I am not having you ripped from me, and that is final!” And with that, he stormed back outside, pulling his furry bomber hat on and forcing his hood over his head, angrily lacing the ties.

Abigail stood there, stunned. Lug had  _ never _ raised his voice towards her, promised never to scream like he had that first night when he fought away the slime. And while this hadn’t been the same, as that was a combat roar and this was merely raised speech, it whittled at Abigail in the same freezing way.

“Come, dearie. Let’s get you some tea.” Said Evelyn, hobbling over and placing a hand on the small of Abigail’s back. Abigail, stunned, only barely managed to hold back snapping, but saw the earnest assistance in Evelyn’s eyes and contained herself.

“Thanks, Granny.”

“Did I ever tell you about that awful blizzard a few decades back?” Evelyn said as the two left the Storefront for the kitchen, their pace slow and calm.

“I don’t think so, Granny.” Said Abigail resignedly, knowing it was impossible to interrupt or head off a telling of a story from an old lady.

“It was a lot like this one, the drifts piled up against the saloon to the roof, I seem to remember. It was nothing but whiteness outside our window for days. The boys worked around the clock, and us ladies sat in this very building, huddled round that very fireplace, and we knit out our worries.” Evelyn put the kettle on and Abigail sat down in the wooden chair by the radiator.

“Every lady knitted back then, it was our way of getting out our pain. We’d spell out our concerns in the cloth, cry into the yarn, and when it was over, our men or our lads would have something new to be warm with. We were scared, sure, but we also knew the men would be fine.” Granny Evelyn was a decent storyteller. Long winded, sure, but she had told enough stories to anticipate when her audience had questions and head them off.

“I know it’s not a side you’ve ever seen, but Little Lewis was a strapping young lad back in his prime, and with my George and Big John Marston, I knew our men would come back in from the cold just fine. Oh, Big John was good at that, he’d send in the boys when they swore they were fine, but it was just in time for Harvey’s grandma to treat their growing frostbite. John knew things, you see.” Abigail nodded her understanding, enraptured.

“He knew our lads were getting bit on the toes, just from the way they walked. Knew they were getting bit on the fingers from how they gripped the shovels. The Marston Blessing, he called it. A certain intuition into their fellow man. His son, Lug’s father Tony, called it a Curse, didn’t want to know the secrets of people, and moved away to the city to get lost in work.” Evelyn poured Abigail another cup of tea.

“But little Lug? Oh no, he knew better. It was a Blessing, he just needed to find better, more wholesome people to read. He came back, just like Big John always said a Marston would. Then, of course, Big John became Old Johnny, and then he passed.” Evelyn paused for a moment, bowing her head and sipping her tea.

“I know you may not like that he’s so willing to put himself at risk, but just know it means that he sees goodness in everyone here, or he wouldn’t bother helping us. And especially you. He sees something very special in you, Abigail. Maybe it’s your strength, but just know that he loves you.”

“Loves? We’re too young to know what love is.” And it was almost true, Lug was only nineteen and Abigail was only nearing twenty one.

“But I’m not, dearie. I know it when I see it. All love is, even though it is the most magical thing a person can experience, is not knowing how’d you’d live without someone, and not wanting to be alone from them ever again. I love my George, I love this Valley and this Town, but more importantly than this old goat, Alexander Brickson ‘Lug’ Marston, loves  _ you _ very much.” Evelyn poked Abigail with the final bit, emphasising her point.

She finished her tea just in time for the Storefront doors to open, a howling gale bursting behind Lug, the massive man toting a shivering, insensate Willy over one shoulder and a swearing, bundled Pam over the other. She shivered out streams of curses that would have made a sailor blush, if Willy was conscious.

Elliott was carrying Penny, almost falling under her weight. Sam took the slight girl from his friend, setting her beside the fire and clearing a space for Harvey to work. Elliott stumbled inside, and almost immediately found a worried Leah mothering over him and a concerned Jodi pushing a cup of tea into his hands.

Pam seemed to disagree with Lug’s toting treatment, but he stopped that by dropping her roughly to the floor right next to the fireplace.

“Heat up, so you can cool off. Or maybe, for once in your pathetic, drunken life, care about your daughter’s wellbeing.” Lug snapped, and made to march out the door. Abigail blocked his path.

“You’re not coming with me, Abigail, so don’t…” She cut him off by bunching her cold fingers in his warm coat, bringing him lip level with her and kissing him breathless. The silence stretched, only Lug’s panting breath against her face and her quiet moaning breaking it.

“I’m not coming with you, so I need you to come back to me safe.” He worked his chapped lips, stunned at their first kiss, and then, his smile was blinding.

“I’ll be back. Can you sober up Pam for me? Maybe make Jake lick her face for a while.” Abigail huffed out laughter, nodding.

“Bring them all back safe, dear, I know you can.”

“I love you too. I love you so much.” His voice was strained, the tears watering in his eyes.

‘A result of the cold’, their minds thought in sync.

“I know. Get to it.” She smiled.

“I… might have a solution to our issues.” Came a voice, rough and gravelly. Those who were still awake in the central room of Pierre’s turned to look, their movements edged in concern.

The Wizard was there, exiting the room which held the Altar of Yoba, snow piled atop his wide brimmed hat.

“Ah, Rasmodius. I was wondering when you’d deign to grace us with your blessed presence.” Marlon’s sarcasm was bitter, and dark. The Wizard’s eyes were frigid in response.

“Marlon.” He nodded, at least willing to keep a basic semblance of civility in the same room as his oldest rival. “I have found evidence of malevolent magical influence in the circumstances of our current weather… predicament.”

“What gave it away, genius?” Lug grumbled, hunched over the thick, creamy milk they’d all been consuming for sustenance. As they were humans and couldn’t consume hay, they were subsisting on milks from Marnie’s livestock, cooked eggs from her birds, and consuming the old bread in Pierre’s cellar alongside whatever honeys, preserves and oils were there.

“No need to be snippy, Farmer. I know a way to break the spell, but I need Fire Quartz.”

“Fire Quartz?!” Marlon snapped, rising from his seat. “Why do you do this? Always demanding impossible things, never considering the dangers of what you want!”

“Marlon...” Lug said warningly.

“No, Lug!” Marlon stood, gesturing accusingly toward The Wizard. “He always does this! He gives people ridiculous demands, plays on their hopes and then abandons us when we need him most!”

“Marlon!” Lug barked, rising from his seat to loom over the eye-patched man, his temper frayed. “You will seat yourself and silence your words! This argument is finished! Your past does not matter now! Cease your actions and stop acting like a petulant child!”

“You have no idea what he’s done to this town!”

“I know enough!  _ The Marstons _ know enough.” The door to what was Abigail’s bedroom, now retrofitted for about nine people, creaked open, the gentle noise deafening in the silence that rang following Lug’s spirited speech. Jas shuffled out and rubbed at one eye, Vincent, as always, by her side.

“If everything okay? I heard shouting.” Said Jas, looking concerned. Vincent dug one of his socked feet against the ground, the very picture of concern.

“Please don’t fight. Mommy and Sam fight and I don’t like it.” Vincent pleaded, his voice soft. Lug sighed and strode over, picking up the two children, one in each arm.

“It’s alright little ones, we were just discussing an idea The Wizard had to stop the snow. Come along, I’ll tuck you in.” Lug kept his voice low this time of night, not wanting to awaken the seven others currently spending fitful sleep in the space he was entering.

Penny was already awake, reading, clearly having also heard the shouting and doing something to wind down. She lifted her comforter welcomingly to the two children, and Lug let them go to scamper over beside their favourite town citizen. Lug smiled softly as he handed Penny a book of bedtime stories and got a grateful smile in return, and made his way for the door. As the story started up behind him, he entered a fractious mood.

Marlon was sitting, grumpily, hunched beside the fire, with Gil rocking away nearby.

“Where do I get Fire Quartz?” Lug asked as he re-entered the room, crossing his arms.

“Lug, you can’t! It’s too dangerous!” Marlon exploded again. Lug turned to him, eyes ablaze, a snarl on his lips.

“Do not presume to inform  _ me _ of danger, Marlon. You are my friend, and I respect you, but if you think for a second that I will allow some upjumped magic-using plebian  _ rat _ to bury  _ my _ town in snow, you have a reckoning coming.” Marlon, sufficiently cowed, sat back down.

“I would appreciate it if you did not call my ex-wife such derogatory names.”

“And  _ I _ would appreciate it if you gave a straightforward answer for once, but we can’t always get what we want.” Lug retorted. “Tell me where the fucking thing is and I’ll get it.”

“In the Mines. On Level 90.”

“You must be joking.” Lug growled, his teeth bared.

“I am not. My ex-wife has woven a charm around the Mines, I cannot teleport into the space. I have communed with the Junimos, and they have agreed to enhance and repair the old elevator. It will take you to Level 80, but they aren’t able to build past that. The enchantments now woven over the mines fight their very nature.”

“You can’t undo her magicks?” Marlon demanded.

“No. I am bound by oath not to interfere in the actions of other magic users, just as they are bound not to interfere with mine. She has very carefully toed the limits of her oaths. I cannot confront her, nor can I dispel her magicks directly, as I am bound more tightly than she is.”

“Why are you more tightly bound?” Lug was curious.

“I am more powerful. The Spirits sealed my potential when I was young, and made me The Keeper of the Sacred Stone. I can no longer go against the Tenets upon the Sacred Stone, for I would be struck dead.”

“That sounds… difficult.” Despite their differences, Marlon could admit that much.

“It is for the best. I am mortal, and my desires are imperfect. Were I to reach the wrong conclusion in a Trial of Magical Condemnation, my power, left unchecked, would overtake the Condemned and doom them to unceasing tragedy. It is better this way, of that I am certain.”

“As fascinating as this discussion on magical theory is,” Lug grunted; “We have something to do. Is the elevator ready now?”

“No. The Junimos will repair it tonight while the town sleeps, and they have informed me they will share things you should know with you in your dreams tonight.”

Lug, counter to normality as he usually was, slept like a baby despite his expectation of the incredible difficulty of the following day. He slept, wrapped completely around Abigail, his arms infinitely warm around her back and their legs intertwined.

If anyone asked, he’d blame it on the tiring day beforehand, but he, and now Abigail, knew the truth. A full night’s sleep in a comfortable space worked like magic for him, healing his ailments and annihilating muscle fatigue, no matter how brutal the day prior to it was on his body.

It didn’t work for poisoned wounds, as demonstrated by the encounter with the Royal Slime, but it worked for abrasions, scratches, and general ‘wear & tear’.

Lug didn’t question it, and Abigail had the tact not to mention it either. She  _ privately _ freaked out, because  _ of course she did _ , but The Wizard said it was just another effect of the Marston Blood, and Granny Evelyn had just laughed at her panic.

She followed it up with assurances, saying that Old John’s wife, Evelyn’s younger sister, had once had the same reaction to her identical discovery. What followed was a highly embarrassing tangent on how effectively limitless stamina made bedroom activities much more fun for everyone involved, but Abigail’s blushing had made the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears drown most of it out.

Lug rose before she did, as usual, and stood, stretching out everything in practiced, methodical motions. He held positions for longer than she’d expect from a man of his size, but perhaps it was  _ due _ to his size that his musculature needed more stretching.

“ _ I’ll be back, honey. _ ” Lug whispered, leaning in close as to avoid waking the few others sprawled on blankets in what was once just Abigail’s room. _ “I’d tell you not to worry, but I don’t think I’d be able to make it through what’s coming without knowing that you’ll be thinking of me. _ ” She smiled crookedly, tiredly, at his words.

“ _ You’re being sappy again _ .” She accused softly, eyes narrowing playfully. He leant in and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Only…” Another on her right cheek. “For…” One on her left cheek, “You.” And finally a lingering one over her lips.

“Expect me back by four. If I haven’t returned, have Marlon and Linus lead the boys up, armed with everything the Adventurer’s guild can field.”

Lug didn’t turn around to meet Abigail’s eyes as he dressed, slipping on thermals and overclothes, heavy waxed denim and then waxed canvas over cotton forming an essentially weather-immune armour.

Finally, he buckled on pauldrons, a cuirass, heavy greaves and a fur-lined bull-shaped bassinet helm, and clomped out of the store with his monstrous club in one hand and a shield in the other.

The wind hit him like a wall, his feet immediately sliding backward as he bowed forward against it. He held up his shield to keep the wind from his goggled eyes, and the only thing he could see was brown fur from his helm, and the glinting rim of his shield, with a white-out just beyond him.

He trudged forward, turning left and making for the stairs to the Community Center. Climbing up the stairs meant he was even less protected from the wind, and he felt the doubt pull at him already.

‘ _ It’s three quarter miles to the Mines, you fool. Just give up. There’s no point. _ ’

“Your mind magicks will not work on me,  _ witch _ .” He snarled aloud, and felt the presence in his mind rear back, stunned. He grinned to himself, and raised his mental walls.

His vision, both of his mind’s eye and literal sight, tunneled. He could see an antsy Abigail in one and a clear path in the other, and began swinging his club to push the top layer of snow away.

The depth of the mines rapidly became a brutal slog, challenging mainly in their monotony and the mind-numbing difficulty of navigating around the constant collapses, boulders. There was also something to be said for how hard it became to ignore the boulders of gleaming gold ore and sprouting amethyst crystals.

Despite his better judgment, Lug reached out and snatched a few of the more intact fallen Amethysts for Abigail, stuffing them into a pocket.

The ladders felt rickety under his heavy tread, and the air was becoming stifling in the clothing he wore. Most of the heavy layers, what wasn’t breathable and wasn’t completely essential to wearing under his armour, he had left at the top of the Mines with the Dwarf, Marlon having provided Lug with a cave carrot as a bribe to keep it all safe.

Lug sighed as he crushed another slime under his club, not even finding a challenge in the small blobs. At this depth, they lacked the cold temperatures required to coalesce into Royals or Emperors, and their teeth rotted away before they could gain enough integrity to hurt his clothing, let along his plate armour.

Swigging back a large gulp from his canteen, Lug paused at the top of yet another ladder and snarled to himself. This lack of challenge was becoming infuriating, and brutally boring.

Angrily stepping forward, the ladder gave way and he was sent careening into the abyss.

Abigail was rapidly developing her skill in the habit of biting her nails, now-expertly running around them with little enough force to ensure nothing cracked, but with plenty of push downwards to give a satisfying bow in the nail.

Jodi and Caroline were watching from nearby, anxiously observing Jake nuzzling against his second owner. Abigail sat numbly by the fireplace, bathing in its warmth but finding no comfort.

Gus stepped forward, seating himself next to Abigail without the slightest hesitation, his ruffled yellow sweater grating against the brick walls.

“Hurts, huh girlie?” He rumbled in a tone none of the three women had heard before, rubbing at a golden band on his left hand with an idle thumb.

“Huh?” Abigail asked, her mind disengaging from the fascinating task of naturally trimming her nails.

“Hurts, when you want them to come back, but they aren’t here yet?” Gus continued, turning to face Abigail. His mustache was unusually droopy today, his hair a bit greasy from the sweat of cooking near an open fire and the lack of showers for the past few days.

“You… know what this is like?” Abigail asked, a strange fire igniting in her eyes, desperate for a relation to her own pain. Gus nodded slowly, a gradual, definitive, painful recognition of the fellow human beside him.

“Indeed.” He said, with that same slow nod again. He held up his left hand, twirling the golden band again. And then, after a moment, he reached under his sweater and pulled free a heavy copper chain.

On it were two more rings, one a thick silver band with a deep-set ruby, and the other a slender band of white gold with a large diamond set in flush on the top of it. He fiddled with them both for a while before he spoke again.

“Brynhilde never did manage to come back. She went to the Deserts, a man kept sending her letters, feeding her ego and greed until she was barely the woman I loved anymore.” A tear traced Gus’ cheek, he hardly seemed to notice.

“She left one day, said she would come back with riches and prove that I wanted her. I tried to tell her that I had loved her forever, far before she got all the bounty money for the Monsters in the other town’s mines, but she wouldn’t listen. That  _ bastard _ had already corrupted her, made her twisted.”

Gus was outright crying now, a display so brutally sad it made Abigail’s heart freeze in sympathy. She was watching him cry, observing his frozen face, how he hardly seemed to see the pain dripping out of him.

“I found her after a while of searching, my darling Brynny was half-eaten by the Javelinas, baking and rotting in the desert sun. If those little rat-pigs hadn’t been there, or if my sword wasn’t on my hip, I would’ve just laid down and died next to her. Luckily, those little fuckers were an  _ excellent _ outlet.” Gus said.

There was something dark in his voice and bearing, a sickening understanding in eyes shadowed by a bitter scowl. A smile backlit by old sickness and festering pain. It was almost impossible to look at, but more importantly, it  _ was _ impossible to look  _ away _ .

“My Darling was many things, but as strong as your Lug was not one of them. She wasn’t kind, she wasn’t idealistic, she barely let me into her heart, and that was only cause I was the only one stubborn enough to convince her she was worth anything on her own. And even that convincing wasn’t enough.” Gus sniffled once, brushing away his tears with the bar-polishing rag he kept in his back pocket.

He shuffled nearer to standing, a strange half-kneel, and paused, placing a roughened hand on Abigail’s shoulder. She looked up, barely bearing to meet his sadness-chilled brown eyes.

“My Brynhilde was not fine, but my Brynhilde was dead long before she entered that desert. Not only will Lug be fine, but as one who has seen his fair share of dead men walking, I can promise you, I have never seen a man more alive while he’s leaving. He’ll come back, and you’d better prep those lips for a bruising kiss when he does.”

Gus nodded after his little spiel, grunted, and stood, heading to the Chapel. After a moment, there was the quiet noise of a butt hitting one of the Pews, and then the distant, indistinct murmur of a man praying.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Evelyn hobbled over with a small, bitter-sweet gap toothed smile, and placed a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn in Abigail’s lap.

“Come along, I’ll teach you.” Murmured the elderly woman, as she dragged Abigail up from her spot and pulled her to the table by the radiator. Caroline followed, settling in beside her daughter and resting her green-coloured head on the purple one beside her.

Lug hobbled back through the blizzard, his right leg limping and his left arm hung low at his side, bleeding. He was barely holding onto his shield, just about managing to keep everything on his person. He battered at the door with the pommel of his club, restrained only enough to keep from shattering the glass.

It opened, and he tumbled inside past a startled Elliott. He was in a daze, barely keeping upright enough to maintain his now-kneeling position. He was inside enough for Elliott to push the door closed, but that was about it. Looking to Marlon, he tossed the man a red crystal, exhausted.

Looking back to the door in the right corner, that led to the main room, nothing in the world could have stopped him from pushing himself upward with his club as a cane, hobbling forward towards it. Someone was saying something, but he couldn’t make them out.

All that mattered was what was on the other side of the doorway, a flash of purple hair and spritely laughter. Stumbling through, he saw her, knitting with clumsy hands and laughing brightly at something her mother had said. Pierre sat nearby, playing a card game with some of the younger men, and was flushing red at Caroline’s tale.

“Abigail…” Lug breathed, stumbling forward and dropping his club with a heavy clatter. She was at his side in an instant, worrying over his left arm. His right arm had plenty of strength left however, even through the screaming of exhaustion, to clutch her to him and kiss her breathless.

Pulling back a bit, he fumbled with a pouch at his belt and then withdrew another crystal, not the red sheen of Fire Quartz, but the dull violet glow of Amethyst. He pressed it into her hands and leant his head into her neck, his mane of red braids flowing over her purple ringlets. His next words were ringing in the room’s silence.

“Marry me.”

“Yes, yes, a hundred times yes!”


End file.
